All Good Things
by LisaT
Summary: PC. Why did Picard and Crusher divorce? Please R&R.


_**All Good Things...**_

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_One thing that intrigued me about the TNG finale was the obvious, if strained, affection that clearly existed between the future Picard and Crusher despite their divorce. It got me wondering what had precipitated that state of affairs, so here's my version! Enjoy. _Please_ review._

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"Jean-Luc!" 

The peremptory tone in his wife's voice startled Jean-Luc Picard enough to cause him to drop the basket- containing the pruning sheers- from his vantage point of twelve feet up a tree. Fortunately, Beverly Picard had good reflexes, and she remained unharmed. The same could not be said for her temper.

"What are you doing up there?" she demanded, her voice accusing. "You promised me you'd leave this job to the younger men. What if you were to take a dizzy spell, or-"

"Dammit, Beverly! Irumodic Syndrome or not, I won't have you treat me like an invalid! Leave me alone and stop this infernal fussing!"

Beverly took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to shake her husband out of his lofty perch.

"I wouldn't need to fuss if you used a modicum of common sense!" she snapped back. "Honestly, Jean-Luc! You hold the highest rank Starfleet can award, but for the past few weeks your behaviour would be a disgrace to the most unruly of cadets. _Why_ can't you take medical advice?"

"I don't like doctors," Jean-Luc grumbled, descending as rapidly as he could.

"Why did you marry one then?" Beverly demanded with perfect point. She put out a hand to steady him as he stepped off the lowest rung, but he flung it back impatiently.

"I'm all right!" he said ungratefully.

This was too much. Beverly folded her arms across her chest and glared at him for a long moment.

"Very well, then. Next time, I'll just let you fall!" With that, she turned smartly on her heel and began to make her way back to the house.

Jean-Luc rubbed his face and eyed her retreating back ruefully. He knew he'd been unfair; knew Beverly's fears were perfectly justified, and that, as she had said, his own behaviour had left a great deal to be desired. All the same, she couldn't- or wouldn't- admit that he also had grounds for complaint. He, after all, was the victim of the cruel degenerative illness, and not she. More than that, Jean-Luc Picard had always been a man of great intellectual, as well as moral, stature, and the fear of losing his essence- his very self- was a pervasive one, even though it could be years before that came to pass. At least, that was the theory.

It was only six months since a long-known threat had become confirmed reality, and Jean-Luc was still trying to adjust to everything that could mean. He knew his wife was also adjusting, and that her overzealous- to him- concern was inspired by her own fear and anxiety. At the same time, he resented the change that the diagnosis had made in his relationship with Beverly. Almost overnight, she had transformed from a passionate, humorous woman with whom life had been a joy, to the precise, careful doctor he had seen her to be all those years ago on the _Enterprise_.

Resentment had been compounded by guilt and anger; last week she had received a communiqué from Starfleet offering her the captaincy of a medical ship. She had refused, without telling him of the offer, without even giving him the chance to persuade her otherwise. If he could believe that she truly felt no wish for such a post, he would have accepted her decision with contentment; as things were, he had a strong suspicion that she had turned the offer down because of her concern for him. Her medical concern for him. _That_ rankled.

"Beverly."

He didn't shout. He didn't have to; decades of command had imbued his voice with authority, and when he chose to exert it, even his wife responded. She had, after all, served under him for a good many years.

She slowed to a stop and waited for him to catch up with her, but did not turn until he tentatively touched her shoulder. Then she whirled, and he saw the tears on her cheeks.

"Beverly. I'm sorry."

She glared again and wiped the tears. "No, you're not, Jean-Luc. This is the third time this week we've had this conversation. If you were sorry, you'd have listened last time, and the time before that!"

Jean-Luc's hand dropped down to his side. "I'm sorry you're upset," he said softly.

For a moment she reached up to touch his cheek with her old tender gesture. "And that's all you're sorry for," she responded, just as softly. "Jean-Luc, you're going to have to accept your limitations. I can't cope with this constant arguing, and the worry-"

He stiffened. "It's not exactly pleasant for me either!" he snapped. "Don't do this, can't do the other- Beverly, it's restricting! I'm an active man, I always have been!"

"I know. Perhaps I've fussed too much. But be careful. Please?" She put her hands on his chest and looked up at him, her mouth quirked in the mischievous smile he knew so well. Involuntarily, his arms closed around her.

"This is nice," he observed after a long moment.

"Yes."

"It's been a long time," he said, kissing her. "My love, I know you're concerned. I don't mind that. It's just- it's the feeling that you're concerned as my doctor, and not my wife, that I can't stand!"

"I'm not your doctor any more," she said lazily, her arms about his neck.

"No, but you might as well be!"

Beverly disengaged herself and stood back. "It's very difficult not to be!" she told him tensely. "I've spent hours- and days- months!- searching for something to cure this, some treatment. Nothing works, nothing! I can't do anything, except watch!"

Jean-Luc put his hands on her shoulders. "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps I don't want you to watch?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why didn't you tell me about the _Pasteur_?"

Beverly's eyes dropped. "How did you know about that?"

"You forgot to close the last log. Careless, doctor, careless!" He wagged his finger at her, trying to keep the tone light.

Beverly laughed a little and then sighed. "I couldn't take it. I couldn't leave you, as things are."

Jean-Luc felt his heart turn to lead. "As things are," he repeated tonelessly. "You mean, because your old husband is so weak, so frail, so unfit to care for himself, that you couldn't take possibly the best opportunity you've ever been offered?"

"I didn't say that!" Beverly protested.

"You didn't have to! It was implicit. Well, _Captain_, I won't keep you any longer. You're free to go!"

"You don't mean that," his wife said uncertainly.

"Don't I? Beverly, if you've turned that down because, as my wife, you want to stay here with me, then I'll accept it with all my heart. But I'm damned if I'll let you stay here- or stay here _with_ you- if you're just staying because your doctor's instincts won't allow you to go!"

She whitened. "Jean-Luc, what are you saying?"

He swallowed, and his voice became hoarse. "I want a divorce."

"No. You don't want it, really. I know you don't." Feebly, she tried to laugh. "That was not funny, Jean-Luc!"

"It wasn't meant to be," he said, his throat stiff.

Beverly gasped, and, startled, he steadied her. She whipped away from him so quickly that he almost lost his balance, always precarious these days. The humiliation- the proof her words- was the final straw.

"I'm going to file for divorce," he panted. "And you," he continued, almost jabbing her in the chest with a forefinger, "are going to contact Starfleet and tell them you'll accept the commission. That's an order!"

"I don't need to take orders from you anymore!"

"In this case, Commander, you will. You're _dismissed_!"

Beverly stared at him, wondering whether this was some facet of his illness. Then she saw the set, implacable face, and the expressionless eyes, and realised it wasn't. She had seen that face and those eyes many times over the years on the Enterprise, and she knew it was final, and pain lanced through her. He had told her he would love her always, and now he was making her go, making her abandon him when she knew he would need her most. Well, if she could not disobey, at least she could have the last word.

"Damn you, Jean-Luc Picard!" she spat, before turning to leave.

They slept in separate rooms that night. Beverly had sent a response to Starfleet, and had packed. She had even booked a shuttle to San Francisco, but by that time, weariness and shock had set in and she had fallen to the bed in a deep sleep. Like many similar sleeps, it did not last night long, and she woke in the early hours of the morning, feeling tired, stiff, miserable and acutely uncomfortable.

Memory returned, and, too exhausted to move, Beverly stayed where she was and allowed the tears to trickle down her cheeks, from under her still closed lids. The sensation of gentle fingers wiping them away roused her, and she opened her eyes slowly to see her husband sitting beside her, looking gaunt and old, devastation as great as hers evident in his face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, too wrung out to shout.

"I-I wanted to watch you sleep," he said, his voice wavering.

Beverly closed her eyes again. "Jean-Luc, tell me the truth. Did you mean it?"

He paused before replying. "I-yes."

"I see."

He winced away from the pain he could see in her eyes, in her very posture, and opened his mouth to say something. Then he closed it again. Would it not make things worse?

..As if they could get any worse. His voice was very gentle when he spoke again.

"I do love you, you know."

She rolled on her side away from him. "You have a strange way of showing it!"

His hand reached out to touch her loosened hair. "Beverly, the day we married, I told you I'd loved you all my life and that I'd love you till the day I die. That was true twenty years ago, and it's just as true today."

"Then _why_?" she demanded, the tears falling again.

His hand continued to move over her hair. "Still so beautiful," he murmured.

She turned back to him. "What?"

He gave her a grin that was almost sheepish. "I'm admiring you. As usual. Beverly, I want you to take this chance. To make the most of it. You can't do that if you're tied down by me. Don't deny it. Even without- it- I'd still be past my best, put out to pasture. You're still young enough to pursue your career, to become the best you can be. I love you too much to ask you to stay here, watching, worrying, as I gradually descend into senility. You'd be old before your time. I won't let you do it!"

"Basically, you're sacrificing our marriage for my career?" Her voice was bitter.

"No. No! I want you to be happy. You wouldn't be, here."

"Who are you to tell me what would make me happy?"

"I know you. Please. Do it for me. Divorce, be legally free of me. Wouldn't it be nice to scold ensigns for fooling around on the holodeck, giving themselves bumps, bruises, and broken bones?" His tone was cajoling as he ended.

"I wouldn't be scolding them if I was their Captain!" his wife retorted.

Aware of the incongruity of this conversation, Jean-Luc grinned. "Beverly, you'd scold them anywhere. Your maternal instincts would kick in. They'd never hear the end of it!"

Unwillingly, she laughed, and then sobered. "Divorce. I never thought it would happen to us," she whispered. "I thought the fact we'd been friends-" Her voice broke again, and she groped for his hand.

"I don't want to lose that," Jean-Luc whispered harshly. "I'd rather die than lose it. And I'd lose it if you stayed here, watching me gradually disintegrate. Let's divorce. Stay close, dear, friends for as long as possible. Then-"

He paused to swallow a lump before continuing. "Then, when it's bad, when I'm not myself anymore, go. Don't come back. Promise you'll do that. Promise to remember me as I am, as I was, and not as some broken, foolish old man."

Beverly looked at him. Then she sat up, and held out her hands. "All right. I'll promise. I'll do it all- agree to the divorce, captain the _Pasteur_, be your- your- _friend_ as long as- as long as we can. But there's one thing I won't promise."

Jean-Luc eyed her warily. "What?"

She gripped his hands convulsively. "I won't stop loving you," she told him, her voice ragged. "I'll never stop loving you!" She dropped her face into her hands and wept again.

His own eyes wet, Jean-Luc sat down beside her and put his arms about her. He rocked her for a long time. Finally, they lay down together, clinging, touching, kissing, talking, all through the night. They both knew it was goodbye.

-end.


End file.
